Uncle Donny.

Was he married? No. He couldn’t be. Tommy must have got his facts wrong. But if he was, what the hell was he playing at with Dora? Angel had to know more about this. She had to be completely sure. Despite the radio – ‘Everlasting Love’ was on there now – she could still hear her mother in the kitchen, smashing things. It grieved her to cause Dora pain, but she’d had to tell her. She had to.

Tomorrow at school, she would find Tommy and ask him more about it.

80

The next time she saw Tommy was some days later, after school, outside the school gates. He was talking to an older man who was leaning against an MGB GT sports car in bright red. All the kids were clustered around, and the man was grinning, lapping up the attention. He was film-star handsome, Angel thought. He was tall, tanned, with thick straight sun-bleached blond hair worn too long, like a pop singer’s. His was the sort of face women looked at and then they just had to look again. The sort they’d have on their walls in posters. A rock god. A sun-kissed idol. As she watched, Tommy took something from the man and tucked it into his pocket, then the man got in the car and drove away.

Tommy wandered over to where she stood, waiting.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked.

‘Lenny Axelford. A bloke I do jobs for,’ Tommy shrugged.

They sat down on the wall while other kids streamed past them, homeward bound.

‘I wanted to ask you,’ said Angel. ‘About what you said. About Uncle Donny.’

Tommy grinned. ‘Why’d you call him that? He’s not your fucking uncle.’

Angel flushed, embarrassed. He made her sound naive, like a little kid. ‘I always have, that’s all. He’s always been there.’

‘So what d’you want to know?’ Tommy tucked the parcel the man had given him into his satchel and closed it carefully.

‘You say he’s married.’

‘He is.’

‘All right, smart-arse, so where does he live, where does he keep this mystery wife of his?’

‘And his kids. Don’t forget those. Course, they don’t go to this shit-hole secondary school. The teachers are crap here. They’re all deadbeats and drinkers, on the system’s scrapheap, stretching out the days until retirement.’

Angel knew this was true. All the teachers here except the two PE ones – and one sprightly male biology teacher who was rumoured to be knocking off one of the female fifth-form pupils – were elderly and had a lot of trouble coping with the kids off the estates. Nervous breakdowns abounded, and spectacular outbursts of temper. Blackboard dusters were flung at the kids, and caning was an everyday occurrence. Tommy was right. No one ever left this school better off or better educated. It was a shit-hole.

But . . . Christ! Donny had kids?

‘His kids go to a private place, a posh place, up the road. Learn Latin and stuff. Get a proper education.’